No Matter How They Toss The Dice
by Wonder Squint
Summary: A series of glimpses into Max and Mike's relationship. Multi-themed, multi-chapter. Requests/Prompts are welcome.
1. Remembrance

_Summary: "Though the rain must fall sometimes, the sun never fails to shine behind the clouds." - A series of glimpses into Max and Mike's relationship. Multi-themed, multi-chapter. Requests/Prompts are welcome._

_Alright, so as most of you know – the first six chapters are reposts but some have been edited slightly. Again, this will be a compilation of unrelated one-shots and drabbles bearing the same theme of Maxton. Updates may be slow at times, but I hope you enjoy this enough to bear with me. Please read, review and enjoy._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but the words I use._

* * *

**NO MATTER HOW THEY TOSS THE DICE**

* * *

**REMEMBRANCE**

_We look before and after,  
And pine for what is not:  
Our sincerest laughter  
With some pain is fraught;  
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought._

* * *

Mike woke warily that morning, making a point to be stealthy enough not to wake Max as he got out of bed. Having taken the moment to simply enjoy watching her upon waking, he noticed the date on his phone and knew immediately he had to call Ryan.

As soon as he closed the door to their bedroom however, Max's eyes fluttered open to meet the harsh light of day beaming in through the window. Apparently, Mike's skills in stealth were somewhat lacking of late.

She reached for her phone and squinted at the display. Despair clouded her eyes as they read the date and her heart recalls just why it hurts to see it each year.

Max often thought of her father and the memories once created in their short time together. She remembered how he would lift her up into the fire truck and let her care for the dog; how he'd smile innocently at her mother whenever she caught Max climbing the laddered-crane; and how he would defy his wife's reprimand all in aid of his little girl's desires. "What can I say - she has her grandmother's eyes." He would explain with a shrug of helplessness and a playful wink at Max.

These were just a select few of the young detective's fondest memories of the man she called father. In reflection, each is one to remember fondly, she decided.

However, on this day in September, she remembers all that she wishes she wouldn't.

She hadn't wanted to wake up – not today. She was having a far better time asleep and oblivious to the world and the pain it forced one to feel. It was almost like a nightmare in reverse – waking up is a great relief. Today, Max woke up into a nightmare.

With a heavy sigh, Max rubbed away the remnants of slumber from her eyes and pushed herself up and out of bed. She joins Mike in the kitchenette as he ends his call, "Who was that?" she asks, reaching into the fridge for orange juice.

"Your uncle." Mike replies truthfully. There was no sense in lying to her – she certainly knew what day it was and also how both men in her life would be showing a great deal of prudence around her. Particularly Mike considering it was the first time in which he would spend it with her.

She wouldn't meet his eyes as she felt them on her while she prepared breakfast, "No TV today then?" the tone in her voice conveyed a sense of expectation; as though she knew what Ryan had suggested to Mike in his pursuit for advice.

"We can do whatever you want." Mike promises and he only smiles when he sees hers.

Max doesn't take very long to decide what she wants to do. And they're standing at the gravesite before she ponders too much to regret the decision. It's one of those moments where she feels the memory of that day welling up in her throat, choking her of the very breath that held back the tears she had long since shed.

But she won't cry – not now, not anymore. She thinks perhaps she might again someday, on her wedding day; or the day she gives birth to her own child and the ones to follow: on the days in which a father should be able to meet his son-in-law and his grandchildren. Those days would be the ones where he could be proud to call Max his daughter – those inevitable memories in the making that have so callously forsaken her, caused by that one day of momentous tragedy. And all that is left to follow is a series of passing disappointments; lost chances and lost causes; heartbreaks and pain and desolate, horrible loneliness.

The weight of grief suddenly became so overwhelming that Max felt a sudden stroke of vertigo. Mike promptly reached out to hold her upright should she plummet to the ground.

"I'm okay." Max reassures him before repeating the statement in an effort to convince herself.

He tells her it's alright not to be and it couldn't be a more genuine claim coming from anyone else. Of course, it's easier when you have someone to be strong when you feel weak. Max had so often portrayed the role of his strength and now, when she needed it, he would be hers.

Mike keeps his arm around her as they stand there before her father's grave. He kisses her forehead as a symbol of his love and commitment. Her eyes look up to meet his and she finds the possible strength she needs to endure the rest of the day, and she squeezes his hand in a gesture of her gratitude. She rests her head on his shoulder and feels his own incline to study her face – watching her as she smiles softly in the world of her memory.

The brightness in even her weakest smiles gave Mike the belief that, though the rain must fall sometimes, the sun never fails to shine behind the clouds. And Max too had yet to fail him.

* * *

_I didn't feel this one required much attention and I certainly don't think it requires anything more. Thanks for reading._


	2. Bereft

_This one didn't require much editing either. Although, i did add a little in the middle somewhere and the ending. Enjoy._

* * *

**BEREFT**

* * *

_To know that I miss you  
So much when you leave;  
To know that I need you  
Like the air that I breathe._

* * *

Mike tossed relentlessly in bed, yanking the covers back and forth, unable to find a comfortable position. It was late – or rather early, too early. He turned to see the clock on the bedside cabinet which read 3:34 AM, taunting him in its harsh light of liquid green.

He had turned in earlier than what was considered the norm for him, but the television hadn't been distracting enough. And his appetite had apparently disappeared while he prepared the mess that was supposed to be dinner. Thereafter, going to bed seemed like the only option.

Again and again Mike turned, sheets twisting up around his limbs – serving as another source of annoyance. The deep, uncomfortable chasm that was his bed seemed to suffocate him enough that he finally kicked the damn duvet off and onto the floor. For a moment, his muscles settled peacefully but soon came the unforgivable chill that was a winter night in New York City.

Huffing in defeat, he reached down and grabbed the covers, pulling them back up over himself; their warm, stifling presence settling in around him – a poor substitute for his usual bedtime company. He leaned up onto his elbow and punched the pillow behind him in frustration, wishing it would miraculously assume a particular shape to soothe him. If only it wasn't lacking in soft, lean limbs to cling to him as it slept, or spoke to him in hushed, loving whispers. But the pillow absolutely refused to do anything except crumble under his fist. Stupid, non-magical pillow.

In the few hours he had been laying there, he hadn't slept a single wink and he couldn't help but blame his girlfriend.

For the past three days and for the next two, Max had been in Boca visiting her Aunt Jenny with Ryan. She hadn't seen her aunt in a few months and Ryan hadn't seen his sister in over a year, so a visit was certainly due. Once she had received the invite from Jenny over the phone, Max had been eager to leave the bitter East Coast weather for a little while and Mike still smiles at the sight of her debating over which bathing suit to take.

She had asked him for an opinion and he took the opportunity to persuade her to model each one for him. Once she clocked his eyes leering hungrily at her, she shook her head and packed all of them. _You never know, right? _She had reasoned with a slight shrug.

Most importantly though, she was excited for her only two remaining family members to reconcile and now that they had this chance, Mike was delighted for her. He knew what having a family meant to her and he could do nothing but drive her to the airport, kiss her farewell and wish her luck they all hoped wouldn't be necessary.

She had asked him to join them and despite his intense desire to agree, he knew this was strictly a family vacation and he didn't want to serve as a distraction for Max while she spent time with her beloved father's siblings. No, he could sacrifice one week in her absence if it was for her. Or at least, that's what he believed.

They called each other a few times during the day, and text far more often than that. But the nights without her were entirely insufferable and it's when the loneliness creeps in that he starts to regret his decision not to have followed her across the country.

Finally, Mike flipped onto his back and stared up at the ceiling he couldn't quite see and felt positively sorry for himself. Before he and Max had gotten together, he often had trouble sleeping. The ever looming drama of Joe Carroll and Lily Gray haunting his thoughts whenever his eyes shut out the light. Then he met Max Hardy and finally he had something else; something better to keep him awake at night. Once they had started dating however, and soon afterwards he moved in with her, he'd never such a satiated sleep in all his life.

But now?

Mike rolled over onto his side once more. The blindingly bright green of the alarm clock now read 3:42AM and he willed – and cursed – it to either freeze, enabling him a few hours of eventual sleep if anything, or to quicken so he could get up and start another mind-numbing, Max-less day. Either would lessen the time left he would have to endure before picking Max up at the airport.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, relaxing his muscles; fixing his pillow and reaching for its neighbour – Max's pillow.

A low guttural sound escaped his throat as he breathed into the cold fabric. Oh God, how he missed her. He felt heartbroken somehow. It was ridiculous to comprehend because his heart knew she was returning very soon, and yet it ached so badly; yearned so violently. It was not a wonder how the pacifying oblivion of sleep and its pleasant nothingness had forsaken him.

Instead, he was adrift in his own bed, missing and longing the soft, sweet anchor that quelled and kept him still.

Mike buried his face into her pillow once more and breathed again.

It's a strange thing how one's mind simply drifts off to seemingly random subjects while suffering from insomnia. Mike ponders how, in any given language, a word may have countless synonyms and too wishes he had a thousand words for love. All that came to mind however, was the way in which Max moved against him while they slept.

And there are no words for that.

* * *

_To know that I want you  
With a passion so blind,  
Is to know that I love you -  
With no doubt in my mind._


	3. The Westons

_This piece was requested by an anonymous reviewer. I was unsure how to go about it but this is what I came up with. I hope it's at least a wee bit enjoyable. And as always, requests/ideas/prompts are welcome._

_Originally entitled: "Familial Initiation"._

* * *

**THE WESTONS**

* * *

It wasn't that she was nervous. After all, she had met them before - though not exactly under the merriest of circumstances. It had been the wake of Mike's father's funeral and Ryan had been with her to do the majority of the talking. She'd be surprised if she had made much of an impression, if one had been made at all.

That was until she called his mother, worried and wanting to check up on him. She thought perhaps the older woman had been momentarily confused or offended when some strange city girl deemed it absolutely necessary to disturb her during her period of mourning. It didn't particularly help matters when Max then told her that she didn't know where Mike was if he wasn't there in Virginia with his family. The poor grieving woman must've been terrified for her youngest son's safety, especially in the midst of her husband's murder.

Max had only been too glad for the call to end, less she dig herself into an even deeper grave while on the line much longer.

Alright, fine. She was nervous, and not even Mike's occasional smile and reassuring squeeze of her hand during their drive eased her highly strung nerves.

"We're here." announced Mike, hitting the brake pedal beneath his feet.

"Already?" she asked, hoping he was wrong; knowing he wasn't.

After removing his seatbelt and when he doesn't hear Max do the same, he glances over to find the look of utmost apprehension glued across her beautiful features, "Hey," he said softly, placing his hand on her thigh.

Max meets his gaze at the contact, "Mom will love you." Mike smiles, "As for my brothers – I'm just glad they're married and can't hit on you." He concludes and thinks, _I doubt that would stop them – _keeping the latter to himself for fear of Max's current nausea.

Despite his cautiousness in regards to the words he chose, Max was not at all reassured by the ones he spoke. He had three older brothers and each of them were married with children. Surely his mother was expecting Mike to hand her another grandchild any day now. And since they had recently moved in together, Max would be surprised if his mother wasn't expecting an announcement of betrothal during their visit.

With a slow intake of breath, she readied herself for this crucial rite of passage in one's courting ritual.

It wasn't an entirely passive gesture to presume the source of Max's angst was her desire to make a good impression on Mike's family. Rather, it was a matter of making the impression that she was good enough for their son and brother that Mike wouldn't have to endure the drama that so often accompanied disapproval. It mattered far more to Max than one might possibly conceive, especially considering he had only just reconciled with his brothers after a long period of animosity. In fact, it was due to Max's persuasion that he speak with them again – she didn't want to be reason they stopped.

Before Mike opens the door to his childhood home, Max grabs his arm, halting him, "What if they don't like me?" she asks and her eyes shine with a girlish glint of dread, as though she was a little girl again, on her very first day of school, scared of not making any friends.

He frowns, "Of course, they will."

"But what if they don't?" Clearly, the possibility was entirely too real for Max than it was for Mike

Realising just how afraid she was, Mike drops his bag onto the porch and takes her hands into his own, "Then I'll still love you." His smile is warm and the endearment is genuine - enough to urge a small simper from her lips. And when he kisses her, deep and slow, her stomach is momentarily settled.

Then the door opens to reveal a large, seemingly brutish man of fair hair. His animated grin and the bear hug he gives Mike is enough to convince Max that he is far from the likes of a ruffian. He turns to Max, winks at his brother in what appeared to be a gesture of respect, and lifts her slightly from the ground in another suffocating embrace, "Max, this is my brother, Steve." Mike begins, hoping his lug of a brother might someday release his girlfriend, "He's a bit of a simpleton but he's the most loving of us all." The tone in his voice is endearing enough that Steve doesn't take it to heart, slapping Mike over the back with a hearty chuckle as he ushers them both inside.

Another man approaches them, donning a similar build to Mike and a welcoming smile, "And I'm James." He greets graciously with his head inclined in the most cavalier fashion, "You must be Max."

Max nods in reply, "I am. It's nice to meet you both." And it certainly was. Their welcoming natures did wonders for her nerves.

"Where's Richard?" Mike asked his brothers while helping Max with her coat, affectionately fixing her hair as he did.

"Here," a somewhat stoic and demeaning voice sounded from the balcony of the staircase.

Mike and Max look up to find its owner and there stands a severe-faced man of moderately tall height and significantly darker hair than his siblings. Mike averts his eyes as the older man descends the staircase, "And this is my eldest brother: Richard Junior." He tells Max in a somewhat dejected tone.

Max noticed the way Mike avoided meeting Richard's gaze, as though the level of friction between them had always been higher than it was with Steve or James.

Just then, Steve leaned over to Max's ear and muttered, "He's the mean one." And she could tell by the way the man in question held himself that it was most likely true.

Richard comes to stand before Max. Although she was significantly taller than a lot of women, he peered down at her in what seemed to reflect as an effort of intimidation, "So, you're the one who Mike was off saving while our father was being murdered." He stated harshly with placid eyes.

The youngest of the men lunged forward towards him but was held back by both James and Steve. The manner in which they did seemed almost rehearsed; as if it wasn't the first time they've had keep their youngest and eldest brother from beating each other senseless, "Do not speak to her like that." Mike hissed, glaring at Richard.

"Mike, its alright." She cooed, holding a hand to his chest in an effort to subdue him before turning to address Richard, "I'm sorry I survived at the expense of your father's life - I truly am. I lost my dad too and for a long time I was angry at whomever I believed deserved it." She drops her head in memory of great sorrow and regret. Mike managed to pull free from his brothers' grasp, obliged to comfort his love with a soothing caress to her back. She lets his hand engulf hers, gripping tightly in gratitude.

"But, it never got me anywhere – it just made me feel much worse." Max explains with a conviction born of experience. After all, she had been but 12 years old on 9/11 and her teenage years to follow were a waking nightmare, "I doubt you'd want to feel much worse than you do now." She concludes, blue eyes staring up at Richard, hoping he was considering the point she was trying to make, if anything.

He said nothing In reply and instead, held Max's gaze until their mother appeared in the doorway of the lounge, "If only I could get them to be this quiet for once." The woman chimed, enjoying the apparent lack of deafening male voices insulting the silence of her home.

"Mikey!" she started after a moment and approached her youngest son, holding his face within her hands, wanting to look at him. He looked healthier and certainly happier than he had in the past few years.

"Hey Mom." He smiles softly, hugging her tightly and when he pulls away, he promptly introduces her to the very reason for the light behind his eyes; the smile upon his face, "Max." she beats him to it, holding out both of her hands for the younger woman to take, "You're more beautiful than I recall." and she relishes the sight of her son smiling adoringly at Max's bashfulness in response to her compliment.

Later, after Max learns that their mother's name is Bonnie and they have a private conversation in the dining room while they watch the four men wrestle each other in the yard, Mike goes to find his mother. She tells him he's lucky and that Max is gorgeous with a heart of gold. At the same time, he didn't need her to tell him. He loves Max, after all.

When dinner is served and a Grace is spoken, their hands clasp each other's beneath the table. Mike just wants to excuse himself, drag her with him, and kiss her until there's not a breath left in her. But he knows he couldn't possibly, much like those few months ago where he was back to wanting her – not that he ever stopped. But he hopes just the same that she can tell how badly he yearns and the knowing look she sends his way says that she does.

Bonnie watches them closely for the remainder of the night. And when Mike turns to her, she's grinning proudly at him: as though he has just brought her an angel. His gaze returns to Max and as the fire's glow warms her face; complimenting her beauty and mimicking the zest in her soul - he couldn't agree more.

The next morning arrives too quickly for Max, feeling strangely reluctant to leave and return home to the City. She thinks it's strange that, now in afterthought, she had been incredibly nervous to meet Mike's family. Now that she had, minus the initial confrontation with Richard Junior, she feels rather silly to have worried at all.

When they're by the car and farewells are exchanged, Bonnie takes Mike off to the side, "I'm glad you have someone who takes care of you." She tells him, glancing over at Max conversing merrily with her other sons. The lovers' eyes meet across the garden path and they share a certain conspicuous smile Bonnie remembers fondly from her blossoming courtship with her husband. Though, Max and Mike's bore a particular amount of experience and hardship in comparison to the one she recalls. It made sense, she supposed, surrounded by the threatening circumstances that they were. Perhaps it would only serve to make them stronger.

Her gaze returns to Mike and she speaks again in a far more serious tone, "Whatever happens, try your very best keep her." And it's advice she hopes he'll manage to take. It was clear that Max was the best thing that has ever happened to Mike and she was sure, if he lost her, he'd lose himself.

"I will." He promises.

* * *

_As you can tell upon rereading, i didn't add much to this one. It was a favourite among a few readers and i felt like changing anything might upset that. Thank you for reading._


	4. Slain

_This one-shot is set during the finale episode of season 2. I've twisted the events to fit the purpose of this particular plotline, which was prompted by my boyfriend. So please, read with an open mind. As always, requests are welcome and I'll get to the ones you've already given. Enjoy._

* * *

**SLAIN**

* * *

The rest of Mike's day had gone by in a fog. People told him things he couldn't hear. Ryan's updates, updates he hearkened to without question, had trouble sinking in. The older man gave him a knowing look, but voiced no words. He may not have known about his niece's feelings, but having been in the situation himself, he was certainly aware of Mike's - he loved Max. Any man in love could see the same in another and it was obvious as the young Agent watched the Ambulance drive away, pining to be inside of it with her.

Max being shot that day was absolutely unacceptable. He should and would have taken the hits from Mark's gun in her place – even without the damn Kevlar. He didn't care as long as she was spared from the pain.

Alas, he couldn't die for her that day, so he killed for her instead. Even now his index finger twitched in the memory of its pressure on the trigger. Max had shot Luke and Mark had retaliated, and that made Mike's actions lawful. For all he regrets that Max got hurt, Mike was secretly glad that Mark had given him the provocation to shoot him. Without it, he wasn't sure what he would've done to Mark should both he and Max have him cornered.

But he shot her; he could've killed her had it not been for the protective vest she had so wisely worn that day. Nevertheless, the intention to do so was clear and Mike was able to be kill him within reason. He didn't have to discover if he was a vengeful, cold-blooded murderer. However, given his lack of remorse in regards to Lily Gray, it was certainly in dispute.

Suddenly, Ryan's damaged psyche didn't seem so alien.

Finally, he was done with stating his account of the day's events and other pointless protocols when Mike leaves without a word. Ryan knew where he was going and decided he would follow later on – he had to see his niece, after all. But, he decided, best to let them have their time alone – they sure as hell deserve it.

When he found her room at the hospital, the suffocating ache in his chest evaporated upon seeing her, releasing it in a heavy sigh of relief.

Max was on the bed, leaning back on her elbows while the nurse finished wrapping her up in gauze from waist to sternum. She turned to Mike and smiled, breathing his name. God, he loved her voice and even more so when she spoke of him. He wasn't granted the opportunity to relish the sound however, for she soon winces in pain.

Mike's heart dropped to see her so badly hurt. And he approached her instantly, perching anxiously by her side with a firm yet gentle grasp on her hand. The nurse was about to leave when he spoke, "When can we get out of here?" he asks, as if it's his responsibility to take her.

"Now, if you wish." And she hands him some painkillers before leaving them alone.

He didn't need to be told twice and soon he was on his feet, gathering her gun and badge. Another nurse then came in with a wheelchair and just as she was about to help Max up from the bed, Mike stopped her, wanting to do it himself. Max was his. Anything she needed was his responsibility. He leaned down and offered his body as her support. She took it graciously, trusting her weight in his arms as she hooked one arm around his neck before he helped her to her feet – their arms went around each other as he then settled her down into the chair.

Mike cursed the circumstance. When Max held onto him and he held her, their reason should be far from necessity and assistance. No matter. She needed him now and she'd have him. Lover or Crutch – he was hers.

Before wheeling her out of the room, he took his jacket off and wrapped it gently around her bare shoulders, shielding her from the cold waiting for them outside.

Then, as if on cue, Max giggled before the laugh raked against her ribs, causing her to cringe. It was a sound Mike deemed he didn't hear enough when he leaned down, eager for an explanation.

"You," she smiled, "Gallant and all too willing to throw your jacket over a puddle." She teased and Mike chuckled slightly in response. Surely she knew he wouldn't care for his jacket should they happen upon a puddle – he'd throw it down without a second thought, "For you. Of course," When voiced, it sounded dreadfully theatrical. In his mind however, it couldn't have been more simple and unadorned.

As knelt before her, he watched her smile disappear. She wasn't fooled by the melodrama in his proclamation but rather, understood the base, elementary fact that it was. Mike would've been embarrassed had it not been the truth and he gazed back at her, willing her to read the sincerity etched upon his rugged features.

For all it overwhelmed her, she didn't turn away – she had seen its premise in the previous weeks since they met, often hoping it could be; waiting for that would be. And she found it, staring back at her with eyes so blue to rival the colour in her own. After a while of avoiding her gaze which seemed to see too much, Mike was finally willing to bare himself to her scrutiny. She deserved it for all she had done for him. She deserved everything.

Max adjusted his jacket around her and granted him his new favourite combination of words, "Take me home, Mike."

* * *

_I suppose, Max's last line could be considered silent acceptance of his feelings. Thank you for reading._


	5. Nativity

_This is the shortest one yet, but i did say they'd be either one-shots or drabbles. Enjoy._

* * *

**NATIVITY**

* * *

Max's desire to stop everything, erase all that was happening and magically return it to normal, extended far beyond the ability to stop it.

She ached; she burned so deep inside of her body that she felt the pain might just kill her. At times, when the spasms became unbearable, she wished it would – perhaps then a numbing solace could drown her; the fire would extinguish its flames. Lord knows the cool compress Mike was holding against her forehead was having absolutely no effect. Neither was the pain management medication dripping into her arm, nor the needle inserted expertly between her vertebrae.

If it wasn't for Mike's coaxing murmurs of commiseration and encouragement frequently pouring past his lips, she'd have collapsed and surrendered to the easier option hours prior. He urged her to meet his gaze and hold it there, reaching for her hand whenever she was unable to maintain her grasp. With his free hand, he'd rub the small of her back in a somewhat fruitful effort to alleviate a minute portion of the pain coursing through her bones.

She couldn't think, couldn't breathe despite how often and incessantly he reminded her to; couldn't quite grasp the situation at hand for the pain had somehow managed to numb every other sense, claiming the position of host.

And then it began.

Her hand reached for Mike's this time, able to hold on with all of the strength that remained within her. She could hold his gaze the way he insisted that she should. And finally, she was able to bear down on the constant waves of pressure and agony that were seemingly endless. In her ears, she recognises noises which sound similar to whimpers of fright and possible rhapsody. It was only in the recesses of her waning consciousness that Max realised they had come from her.

Then, with a final strangled lament, it was over. A shrill, reedy wail pierced the air and suddenly, there it was – there _he _was. He cried with all the intensity that was humanly possible, mimicking that of his parents.

Max glanced up at Mike and the blue of their eyes locked: blood-shot and fatigued. And he reaches for her hand as she reached for their son.


	6. Creepy

_Here is another attempt at a guest's request to be set prior to the establishment of their relationship. I apologise if it's terribly cliché, "cheap" or whatever, but I don't normally choose to write such things and when I do, this is how I do it – this is what you get when it's requested. Also, when leaving your ideas, could you possibly state your name or initials? That way it's less impersonal when I credit you. It's up to you, of course. Anyway, read, review and enjoy._

* * *

**CREEPY**

* * *

He had told her he was coming over, right? Like on his way over? He was sure of it. So why then was she surprised to find him gawking like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle by her bedroom door?

Mike had arrived at Max's quaint little apartment not five minutes prior to his current position. She hadn't answered his knocks on the door and after the third attempt; he let himself in, calling for her. Each time, he received only silence in response.

He was just about to tear her home apart in search for her when a noise sounded from the bedroom. Without thinking and through habit, he unsheathed his firearm from its holster and warily approached the source, gun in hand.

Before he ventured into the room, he saw her – or rather, her reflection in the full-length mirror. And Mike couldn't recall the very last time his breath hitched so agonisingly in his throat.

_Max_, it would've whimpered wantonly upon freedom.

And there she was, sitting on the chaise at the foot of her bed, clad in nothing but a towel in a feeble attempt to hide what Mike so longed to see. Regardless, he appreciated the sight of what he could.

His eyes feasted upon the gentle curve of her neck that seemed to rival that of a swan; the impossible length of her legs protruding from beneath the flimsy piece of fabric that was a towel; and the way in which the winter moon bathed her skin in a curiously warm light, sparkling as if she were crafted of the finest porcelain.

Her hair had been tied up, telling him she had opted for a bath instead of a shower, and when she frees it from its confines, the dark tresses tumble down in a curtain of black silk; billowing their way around her shoulders.

Mike was so trapped in his reverie; marveling at the sheer beauty of Max's body that he almost lost his balance and stumbled over the threshold when she moves to the side of her bed. Just then, he thinks about making his presence known less his subconscious drown in a deep pit of self-loathing for his clandestine ogling. Just then, another loop is thrown when she drops her towel form her chest and down to her hips – the material piling on the bed around her.

Now, her back is completely bare to his prying eyes and he wonders what it would be like to trail his mouth along the contours of her spine; nibble on the edge of her shoulder blade while his arm loops its way around her middle, pressing her to him with a firm hand against the taut muscles of her belly.

_Stop! _He reprimanded himself, squeezing his eyes tightly in an effort to avoid the most alluring sight he has ever had the pleasure to behold. _But it's wrong! _The voice reminded him.

_As long as the wrong feels right! _A rebel in him countered and he would've slapped himself over the head had Max not been in ear-shot.

He recalls that morning one week prior when she had let herself into her Uncle's apartment just as he finished showering. She had turned and averted her eyes, of course but only when he had looked up - she certainly saw more of him than he had seen of her. Perhaps now they could be considered even.

Apparently, closing his eyes had done the trick and he was soon – reluctantly - moving away from the door. He found a seat on her couch and waited for a moment before calling to her, "Max?" said he, forcing it to sound like a question – asking where she was, as if he didn't already know.

"In here!" she answered, "I'll be out in a minute."

A minute? Surely she required longer than one minute to dress herself_. Oh!_ Mike prayed to the God he was unsure existed that she didn't walk out there in that cursed towel – he didn't think his heart could bear the agony in not being able to tear it off.

_Jesus!_ He cursed with a disapproving shake of his head, believing himself a pervert for having stared longer than he ought to. Of course, she was more than that and the base instinct of his species would not reduce her to a vessel of wanton flesh, he refused to let it.

To his relief, and disappointment, Max appeared a minute later in a burgundy tank top and boot-cut jeans; tablet in hand, ready to endure another tedious night of research and hacking.

"You okay?" Max inquires ceremoniously, sitting beside Mike who nods and offers her a crooked smile, not trusting his voice to speak for him; the image of her naked skin forever imprinted onto his psyche and making his inhibitions just a tad disloyal

They quickly buckle down into their work, focusing only on the task at hand; keeping their mind from drifting toward what they shouldn't.

This way, she wouldn't suspect he had ever seen her and he'd never know that she had.

* * *

_For explanation purposes, the title pays homage to Max's description of catching Mike in a towel in 2.09 "Unmasked". Though, we all know she meant otherwise. And it also refers to Mike creeping about her apartment. As always, thank you for reading._


	7. Forlorn

_This is a role reversal on chapter 2 "Bereft", in which Mike is the one who leaves for a time. Thank you for all your prompts and requests so far, I'm working on them any chance I get. For now, please enjoy._

* * *

**FORLORN**

* * *

Mike tugged on the zipper to his suitcase, a tighter squeeze that it ought to be. Max hovered by the threshold, waiting nervously. He could see that familiar worry etched upon every feature; the way she stood, the way her eyes danced between him and the tablet's display – cursing the facts.

It hurt to see her so shaken, the pain on her face. It hurt far more to know that he had caused it.

"Come on, Max." he whispered, trying to console her, "Stop staring at it. It's not going to help you."

"You're going to miss your flight." Her voice quavered as she ignored him, averting her eyes.

The apprehension in her voice was clear and it broke his heart to hear it. Crossing the room, he closed the space between them and wrapped his arms around her waist. As resilient as Max was, she melted against him and he sensed her very need for his strength. It was a need to know that everything would be alright should his embrace be strong enough. He could feel the love she bore for him in the tightness of her grasp and it caused a powerful wave of emotion to surge through him that only appeared when she was with him, in his arms and everything seemed perfect.

His suitcase and the weather-appropriate clothing inside were new, but this wasn't. This was familiar and sweet. It was safe, "I'm going to be fine." He said, reminding her and the promise is translated into a soft kiss against her neck. To his worry, she stiffens and pulls back slightly, "Say it."

Max sighs, closing her eyes, "You're going to be fine." She breathes, unsure if she believes it.

He kisses her gently, but with a slight urgency that's difficult to quell. Both of them feel the weight of the kiss – the kiss that could be their last, "I'm going to be fine." Mike repeats himself, though whether it was for Max's benefit or for his, he couldn't quite tell. He checks his watch and chuckles lightly against her chest, "I'm going to be late."

At this point, Max must have taken his words as some sort of cue, a sign that it was really time because she pulled back further and pressed her lips against his, lingering and bittersweet, "I'll miss you." And Mike had to avert his eyes for fear of seeing the tears swell in hers. But he realises just how cowardly that was, how feeble it made him and he forces himself to behold the dread in her eyes and listen to the fear in her voice. It almost made him stay.

"I love you," he reminded her; "I have to do this – for us."

She turns away and looks again at the tablet on the table, "I know." Mark Gray's face displayed across the screen, accompanied with false details of identification and a validated current residence, "Go," she tells Mike, and he does, stealing one last glance back at her pained and weary face.

Max doesn't meet his eyes, not caring to watch him leave - nor to feel her heart breaking as she does. He could find no fault in it, to avoid the sight; to fool herself at times when she can safely say she never saw it.

Regardless, she knows the tears will come often. The first time each of their shared tasks is done solo; when she catches a wisp of his scent on the pillow or when she washes the last load of laundry with his clothes - and then the first without.

Its the tears that begin to fall that steels his resolve and he lugs his suitcase behind him, adjusts his coat and leaves.

* * *

_I didn't explain much, thinking it would be better for you to deduce your own reasons for Mike's pursuing Mark and Max not joining him. Thank you for reading._


	8. Trampled

_This particular piece was requested by a reviewer named Vanessa. I hope you like what I've come up with. I think it deals with more than a simple nursing, but given it's regrettable nature, i've tried not to dwell too much on it. Please keep sending in your requests - i'll get to them all in due time. Meanwhile, read, review and enjoy._

* * *

**TRAMPLED**

* * *

Max didn't think there was a more terrifying sound than the ringing tone of an outgoing call. It became increasingly difficult to breathe the longer she waited for an answer, her fingers trembling around the device against her ear.

The news had reached her precinct at the NYPD. She had heard; then she panicked and closed the door to her office before taking out her cell and calling Mike.

It had been an explosion: another terrifying arson attack on the city which he just so happened to be in close proximity of. _Please_, she begged silently after the fifth hollow ring, _please pick up._

"Weston," a gruff sounding voice finally answered. It seemed thick with smoke and distraction because he never answered with his name when Max called. She knew he would always check the caller ID and grant her a warm "Hey," when he saw her name. Clearly, this time, he hadn't bothered to look.

"Mike," she whispered fitfully, "It's me."

Immediately, the warmth returned, "Hey," but the irritated rasp remained.

Though, the small endearment did not calm her nerves, she was pleased to hear it, "Please tell me you're okay." Asked Max, and she was sure Mike could hear the fret within her voice.

"I'm okay," he began, clearing his throat – an audibly painful action, "I don't have a scratch. I promise." He knew all too well just how she worried and of course, given his recent near death experience, he could hardly blame her. In fact, he was truly the one at fault, having given her reasons to worry in the first place. Although, knowing Max, she'd probably find a reason or two regardless.

She gave a tremulous, relived sigh in response, "I'm just about to leave work. You better be home soon." It's not so much a question or request as it is an expectation.

"I'll be there," he agreed, "See you soon."

…

After stopping at the nearest convenience store to buy some painkillers and throat lozenges, Max drove rather recklessly to their shared apartment, eager to take care of her boyfriend. She tossed the medicine atop the table and made her way into the en suite, plugging up the bathtub and letting the warm water fill its way toward the surface.

As promised, Mike arrives home not ten minutes after Max. The deadbolt sounds on the door and she smells him before he's even in her sight.

The overbearing, stinging scent of smoke filled the air around them as he moved through it quietly. He didn't attempt to call out to her, a sign that told her his throat was still sore. The all too familiar worry tugged at her chest and when he enters the bathroom, dishevelled and sooty with bloodshot eyes, she gasps slightly. Moving toward him, she closes the distance and hugs him as tight as she dares; momentarily forgetting that he's hurting.

"Hey, you." He greeted softly, his tired arms encircling her.

Max buried her face into his shoulder, disregarding the smell of ash insulting her senses, "I'm okay," Mike reassures, netting his fingers into her hair, "Really, Max. I'm all right." He rasped in response to the tightening of her arms.

"This time," he feels her breathe petulantly against his skin. She was terrified. She had nearly lost him again. Again! And she barely managed to endure the previous times she had seen him hurt. That time from Preston Tanner's Fraternity; when she watched him at the gunpoint of Joe Carroll in the Blessed Saint's Cathedral. And again when Luke Gray had knocked him unconscious and she believed him dead, if only for a moment – however fleeting, she almost had a heart attack. They weren't even an item then, but now? Now they were the most precious part of each other's lives and Max fears to think what his next injury might do to her sanity.

Avoiding the possibility, she ushers him toward the tub instead and tells him to strip. He obeyed without a word and lowered himself into the water. After letting his skin adjust to the heat, he relaxed, keeping his hands out of the water. They were burnt slightly, since his clothing hadn't protected them from the blast.

Max returned with a bottle of protective body oil in hand and knelt down beside the bath, her shirt sleeves rolled up above her elbows.

Mike turned his head toward her, watching as she dipped her hand into the water, reaching for his arm. She massaged him clean with oily fingers, heedful that soap would sting and a cloth would scrape. His skin required as much lubrication and as little friction as possible.

She worked her way up his arm and once she finished cleaning his bicep, she spoke again, "Lean forward." And he does as he's told, rising slightly from the water and inclining his body toward his knees. Max rubbed her fingers at the grime on his neck and shoulders, trailing down his throat and onto his pulse point. His shirt had taken most of the dirt from the smoke but the smell lingered on the skin beneath. Her hand drifted lower onto his chest and the firm abdominals beneath, rinsing away the last remnants of fire; echoes of the explosion.

She had so often mapped the same region in the past year. Her willing hands generally greedy, had caressed, stroked and scratched at the impressive contours nearly every night. She had noted the scars from past injuries, mostly from Roderick's beating and committed each story he had told her to memory. Unlike now however, they hadn't required such treatment before. Not like this. Not while Max was there to care for him. Protectiveness accompanied her worry and she was attentive to his needs, wanting to heal what she could. Her expression was one of concentration as she worked gently on removing the last of the soot, mindful of his sensitive, chaffed skin.

Invested as she was in her ministrations, she hadn't noticed Mike watching her, equally as attentive. She didn't see his eyes swell with adoration while she soothed him in a way he entrusted only her to do. Never one to pray for injury, Mike found himself strangely unconcerned with his recent brush with death. He was naked in a warm bath being tended to by an angel that was his Max. And while he hated himself for causing that wounded flare in the blue of her eyes, being on the receiving end of her nurturing grace was certainly worth a little heat.

Sighing wearingly, Mike settles back down when her hands leave his body and cease their fussing. She's drying her hands when the landline rings and before Mike can tell her to ignore it, she's already on her way to the living room.

He waits five minutes and when she makes no move to return to him, Mike finishes washing himself and gets out of the tub. When she finally ends the call, he's already dressed in an old FBI t-shirt and sweats, seated on the edge of their bed.

"Who was that?" he asks, his eyes watching her remove the damp shirt from her body. To his disappointment, she doesn't continue undressing from there. Instead, she keeps her white tank top on and tucked into her belt, "Ryan." She replies, moving to stand before him, "He wanted to know how you were." She claims his hand and begins tending to the burns with a damp cloth and medicinal gel.

Mike gazes up at her, focused on her work, "I guess worrying is a Hardy trait." He teases, hoping to lighten the mood. He didn't expect a reply but he certainly hoped she'd acknowledge the jest and when she does neither, it's him who starts to worry, "Max?" he regards her cautiously.

Her expression is unchanged when she moves to his other hand, "Yes?"

He studies her for a moment, as if trying to read every thought running through her mind. But they fail to register in his and he speaks, "I'm sorry." Her hands still upon hearing his atonement and she finally meets his gaze, clouded with regret. Hers however, were suddenly tired and sad, seemingly dejected.

It pained Mike to see it and before thinking, he shifts back slightly, further onto the bed and guides Max, hands on her hips, to sit astride his legs. She didn't have time to struggle when she was locked against him before she had a chance to react. Surprisingly, she found she had less energy to object than she had to withdraw and instead, settles where he wanted her.

"I am so sorry." And it couldn't be more sincere, especially considering his heart threatened to crack within his chest as all hope seemed to drain from Max's features. Her hope was always something he could rely on and now that he could see it waning in her eyes, he was terrified he'd lose her too. That defeated tone in her voice had frightened him. It sounded gone – as if her body was a mere decoy and her soul had already fled their apartment; as if she had finally given up on him.

_No_! He refused to believe it, squeezing his eyes shut and tightening his arms around her. Not now, not after everything they've been through. There were several reasons she'd have to leave him but his panicked, selfish mind considered only the reasons he'd cease to endure should she end their relationship. Most importantly, by loving him, she made him who he was; the man he had been before the terror and its darkness. He refused to face who he'd be without her.

"I wouldn't survive long if you left me, Max."

Her eyes snap open immediately, wide and alert, "What?" she blinked, "I'm not going to leave you." She quickly reassures him, as if his statement was mere folly. Her words and the confused inclination of her brow proved that it was simply the concussion speaking after all – fooling him into thinking what she deemed absolutely ridiculous.

"Oh thank god!" he sighs, relief and a slight chuckle on its tail. His head falls against her clavicle and he inhales her scent, grateful for these little things.

Finally, she exhales, releasing the tension that had built up inside of her the moment she had heard word of the explosion, "But you have to stop doing this to me." She counters, "Next time, I won't be mending you; I'll be kicking your ass." She smirks with a raised eyebrow, telling him she only half meant it.

"I'm sure I'd deserve it." He chortles lightly until the throbbing in his skull forced a wince from his lips. She reaches for the painkillers and bottle of water she had placed on the bedside table and hands them to him. He takes them gratefully and both he and Max will them to work as they settle down to sleep.

Headache.

Heartache.

Both are nursed this night.

* * *

_So, I'm not too keen on the ending but I hope you folks like it more than I do. If anything, it works. Thank you for reading._


	9. Resurrection

_This was prompted by my friend, Erin when I bombarded her for ideas. It's not entirely AU, because it might just happen, though I hope it doesn't. It's just a little insight into the love and loyalty of their relationship. Please read, review and enjoy._

* * *

**RESURRECTION**

* * *

When she woke, the brightness of the light offended her eyes, as though they had grown accustomed to darkness. Once they adjusted themselves, she surveyed her surroundings and realised it was a hospital room and given the numerous wires connecting her to different machinery, she seemed to be its patient.

Max was not the room's sole occupant however, and when she gazed over to her right, there slept a man on a chair beside her bed. He was holding her pale hand in his own gloved hands while his head rested on the mattress' edge.

It felt like she had been watching him for hours when the sound of his phone vibrating broke her out of her reverie, waking him from his slumber. And his eyes slowly opened.

When his gaze met hers, he dropped her hand in shock, "You're awake." He breathed, his mouth agape.

She swallowed nervously, her throat so parched that she could barely make a sound, as though she hadn't spoken in a very, very long time. Eventually, she managed three words in a whisper, "Who are you?"

…

He continued to visit every day after that, often remaining by Max's side throughout the night, "You have amnesia." He told her. "You've been in a coma for 3 months." And that she would have to extend her stay in the hospital another few weeks; she had sustained some severe internal injuries that, though mostly healed, still required monitoring.

She asked questions about herself and her life, unsure if he would have the knowledge to answer. To her benefit, he certainly seemed to know a lot and was always willing to tell her. But when she mentioned her family, he promptly excused himself, avoiding the subject. She had wanted to press him further when he returned, but she was afraid of whatever answer he might have to give. She wondered if she had been lonely, but realised it doesn't much matter anymore. After all, she couldn't miss anyone she didn't remember having.

Since the day she had woken up, he never failed to visit, even on the days that seemed the busiest for him. He always wore a pair of black leather gloves and she would ask why he never removed them, "My hands tend to get cold easily." He had chuckled lightly and peered down at the laptop in front of him. Max would've thought nothing of it if it weren't for the promptness in which he answered; it seemed slightly suspicious, as though he had prepared an answer to her inevitable question. Whether it was true or not, she didn't know.

He told her about her career, her apartment. She learns that she owns a dog but that she needn't worry because he was taking care of him. And she didn't question it; she hadn't questioned his being there or his dedication to provide himself as company.

He told her stories, too. Stories of how they would get up to all sorts of antics together, generally where they've had to chase after those he hadn't named, or when they'd compete with each other over who could hack into classified files and top-secret agencies faster. He'd then go on to recall their inside jokes and laughed, smiling softly in the world of a memory he shared for them both.

One morning of many, as he reached over her to adjust her pillow, she noticed a small ring of gold hanging from a chain around his neck. She couldn't stop herself from asking to be told the story behind it.

His gloved hand automatically went to clutch the ring, gazing down at it for a moment before answering, "I'm keeping it safe for someone." Then his eyes clouded with sorrow, threatening to weep. She quickly changed the subject, kicking herself for ever prying.

…

"I wish I had my memories," Max mused a day before she was due for release. He glances up from his laptop and is silent for a moment.

He moves to sit beside her, "Sometimes, I wish I had lost mine with you," he murmured softly, wrapping his arm around her back, letting her lean against him, "It'd be easier to forget what the other person doesn't remember." It was true, of course. A memory created together that's half forgotten is nothing but a painful burden upon the one who remembers.

"Remember what?" she asked, curious to know if he had meant anything in particular.

He peers down at her, the blue of their eyes locking as they so often had before. It took the entirety of his strength not to speak out then; give her a straight answer and relieve himself of the burden he had been carrying for too long. But he remembers the reason he had chosen not to in the first place and instead, he gave her hand a squeeze and she could feel something hard beneath his glove. With a hollow laugh, he shook his head, "Never mind."

…

The next morning couldn't arrive fast enough and when the noise from the TV started to irrigate Max, she groaned, "Mike, could you turn that off, please?" she asked absent-mindedly, placing her things into the bag he had brought her clothes in.

"Sure thing," he replied, and before he could press the button, he stopped, "Wait…" and he turned to stare at her.

She looked up to meet his gaze, "What?" inquired she, confused and wondering why the TV was still on and why his eyes had seemingly grown larger in that split second since she asked him to turn it off.

Swallowing, he moved round the bed and stood before her, "What's my name?" he asks, hopeful.

"Mike, wh-" her voice hitches mid-sentence as a wave of realisation came crashing into her, "Oh…" If it weren't for her lack of breath, it wouldn't been released in a dramatic gasp. He hadn't ever mentioned his name, and he had been careful not to leave his ID cards within her reach – wanting her to remember on her own.

She reaches for his left hand and slowly removes the glove, revealing a wedding band on his ring finger; one she had felt through the leather that night before. Her gaze drifts upwards and toward the similar, yet smaller ring around his neck. And finally, she brings her hand up to discover the conspicuously paler patch of skin on the base of her very own ring finger.

When her eyes meet his once more, tears have begun to swell in those cerulean depths; the fog having absconded and now, only clarity and memory remained.

Mike's lips twitch upwards into a bright smile and he finally breathes for the first time in 4 months, "You remember…"


	10. Blessing

_Here is a small piece for you folks while I work on a longer request. It's been over a week since I last updated so something was certainly due. I hope it's a decent something. Please read, review and enjoy._

* * *

**BLESSING**

* * *

"Ryan, may I have your blessing?" These words come as a shock to the eldest of the two men._ Since when am I, the 40-something-year-old, being asked this question?_ He mused, his brow furrowed in confusion.

However, he knew a year ago that this was inevitable. He knew it whenever he watched them together. Mike would whisper something of no particular significance in Max's ear and Ryan would be reminded of himself at their age. He had never seen his niece smile like that. Not when she was a toddler; excited by everything and certainly never on Christmas. Although Ryan hasn't always approved of their union, he knew that Mike was going to be around for a while. And he can't find it himself to speak against them because now his brother's little girl smiles that way constantly.

So, despite the fact that one year prior he had laughed when Max first told him who her new boyfriend was, that night he looked the young agent square in the eyes and said, "Mike, I would be honoured." They shook hands and he grinned like he hasn't in a long time. Mike asked him to keep the secret and he agreed, of course.

That next Friday, they were having a backyard bonfire in Virginia at Mike's childhood home. It was a gorgeous evening. Actually, the word gorgeous didn't exactly do it justice. Ryan stood on the back porch, looking out at a family that would soon become part of his own. He was quite pleased to realise that he, along with several of the young couple's friends had been invited. It seemed he was a standard in their lives now.

That's when he saw, by the faint crackling light of the fire - a little box, just the right size. And Ryan smiled; something he never thought he'd do for Mike in regards to his niece.

He must have been lost in thought, because when Mike's mother came out of the kitchen and put her hand on his shoulder, he jumped slightly. She laughed and sighed a little, she must have been staring over at Mike too. "Ryan?" She murmured.

"Yeah?" he whispered quietly.

"Do you think I'm ever going to stand next to your beautiful niece and call her my daughter-in-law?"

Their eyes glance over at Max, laughing merrily with two of Mike's elder brothers, "Bonnie, I think it's going to be sooner than you think," Ryan responded, winking down at her, telling her he knew something she didn't.

And that's when they saw Mike reach for the box.

* * *

_I have actually written a separate piece focused solely on Mike's proposal to Max but it's very different and much more interesting. I'll definitely upload that one too, though not directly after this. Thank you for reading._


	11. In Parting

_This piece is set directly following the events of chapter 7: "Forlorn" and yet another sequel will follow later on, perhaps two. Please read, review and enjoy._

* * *

**IN PARTING**

* * *

Despite her wish to avoid watching him leave, Max had driven Mike to the airport anyway. The entire drive there however, she did not allow herself to look at him. Only upon their arrival does she break the silence, "You'd better go. Your flight is due soon." she says instead, trying her best to keep her voice steady.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mike moving towards her. "Max." he starts slowly, and she hates herself for being pleased by the note of desperation in his voice. She knows he wants to touch her, and she needs it so much she can hardly bear it, but somehow she forces herself to shrink back against the door, out of his reach.

"Just go. Please." She hears her voice begin to falter and presses her lips together tightly. She wasn't going to cry again. _I'm not_, she repeated the phrase over and over in her head in an effort to convince herself. After all, it wasn't going to make him stay.

"Ryan said he might already be dead. It may just be a point of finding the body or the killer."

The elder man had called Mike after sending Mark Gray's suspected whereabouts to Max's tablet. He persuaded the young agent to catch a flight to Venezuela with the team tasked with catching and detaining the elusive twin. Perhaps then he'd have the opportunity to eliminate the ever looming threat once and for all. Maybe then he and Max wouldn't have to glance over their shoulder, awaiting the inevitable vengeance Mark was surely planning.

She would feel entirely different on the subject should she be accompanying Mike but, of course, she couldn't. So she settled for being angry instead.

Max hates her Uncle even more after hearing those words but still felt an inexplicable need to defend him, "Don't try to convince me that this was his idea. Don't say you haven't been waiting for this opportunity." she sounds harsh and she needs to be: a self-preservation instinct kicked in sometime during the drive there and she couldn't let him see how much the situation was hurting her - that her heart was being shredded more and more with every word is her secret, and it would remain so.

Mike hesitates, "Yes," he admits, "I want to do it myself-"

She interrupts him, gritting her teeth with watery eyes, "So nothing's changed? Killing Lily wasn't enough for you?" she was beyond the point of caring whether or not he could hear the pain within her voice; he deserved to face the fact that it was he who had caused it, "Do you intentionally ignore everything I say just to hurt me?"

"No!" A small part of her is thrilled by his vehemence, his horror struck expression. "Don't think that, please." He reaches up and cups her face in his hand, trailing his fingers down her cheek. "Don't." he repeats himself firmly.

"Why not?" she choked the words out, forcing them past the lump in her throat, "If it's the truth, then why not?"

Mike brushes his thumb across her lips in a poor substitute for a kiss, "It's not the truth. And I think you know that." Max reaches up to take his hand from her face, entangling their fingers. He's right; she does and worse still, she can't even condemn his reason for it, for leaving.

He leans into her, their foreheads touching, and she savours the feel of his warm breath on her skin because this is the last time they'll be this close. "I love you, Max." he kisses her.

"You need to go." Max whispers against his mouth. "You'll miss your flight." A tear slides down her cheek and before he can kiss it from her face, she brushes it away angrily.

"But Max-" he starts, suddenly wanting to prolong his departure.

"Mike, just go. Please," she looks up to meet his gaze and she can only finish in a whisper, "Please." The strength to fight was gone.

After staring at her in silence, he finally nods, "If that's what you want." he says roughly, jumping out of the car, grabbing his coat. Then he turns to face her again and gives her another searching look.

"I meant it, Max," he says solemnly, "I'm doing this for us; for you…" his voice trails off, his eyes floating down to the slight bump at her belly, "for him." After a moment of committing the sight to memory, his eyes meet hers again, "I love you."

He doesn't wait for a reply before slamming the door shut. But as she watches him stride in and over to the ticket-office, his shoulders set and his back resolutely turned towards her, she gives him one anyway.

"I love you too."

But it's too late for a declaration now and Max closes her eyes, terrified he might never come back to hear it again.


	12. Salem & Constance - Part I

_I've been wanting to write this piece for a while and it took far longer than it might now be worth. I'm only too glad to have it finished and ready to share with you folks. It's split into two parts and therefore, two chapters. I suppose it can be considered a sequel to chapter 3: "The Westons". I'd like to know what you think of my OC Constance and her character arc, so please do leave feedback on that. Otherwise, like always, please read, review and enjoy._

* * *

**SALEM & CONSTANCE  
PART I**

* * *

Max seldom spoke to her mother since she revealed her plans to pursue a detective position in the NYPD, following the example of her grandfather. She had spent four years away from her mother at an out-of-state University and upon her graduation, she decided to return to her birthplace of New York City. It seemed while most generally claim 'distance makes the heart grow fonder', Max supposed that, in regards to her mother, it was 'out of sight, out of mind'. And the young brunette had grown only too fond of the freedom she had procured.

Returning to the city after spending the entirety of her teenage years in a small, secluded town shocked Max less than she expected given the fact that she was only too eager to flee from her mother after she practically disowned her. It took Max getting shot for Constance to come around.

"If you stayed at home with me, you wouldn't have gotten hurt," she had claimed at her daughter's bedside, "At least there I could protect you." She cried until she saw that familiar deep blue once more; the blue that proved Max was indeed her – foolish – father's daughter. And for all her mother denied it, Max was very much a Hardy.

Constance saw her daughter back to health before fleeing home to her beloved state of Massachusetts. Max had insisted that her Aunt Jenny was all too willing to care for her niece instead but mother wouldn't hear any of it. If she could keep Max from embracing the cursed side of her bloodline for a little longer, she intended to take advantage of the opportunity. She was only too pleased to hear that Max had yet to rekindle her relationship with Ryan – after all, he was that one particular Hardy to which trouble and tragedy seemed to follow.

When she did however, the twice-weekly phone calls ceased and have yet to begin again, "You can't make me choose between two halves of myself, mom." Max had reprimanded shortly after Ryan told her that Constance had warned him to stay away from her daughter, "I'm not a little girl anymore and no matter how many times you change my last name, I'll always be Max Hardy." The call ended with a gasp and the continuous ring.

It was only after Mike had proposed that Max wanted him to meet the only other living family member she had left for him to meet, "We haven't spoken in two years – not since Ryan and I rebuilt our relationship." Max tells him during their drive, "Don't be surprised if she isn't welcoming."

"It'll all be fine. Don't worry." Mike reassures her, much like the time he had tried to calm her nerves before she met his mother.

Max cranes her head slightly, giving him a look – as if to say, "You know I will." And he chuckles lightly, knowing her too well, "Right." He added, shaking his head slightly. _She's hopeless, _he thought as they pulled into the town of Salem.

"So, what was it like growing up here?" he asks curiously.

Max glanced around at the passing townsfolk, "They would be happier if every day was Halloween." It was true. Max thought that, given the town's history with the supernatural, one would presume to believe the inhabitants were reluctant to celebrate it. However, it seemed the ancestors of those more wary are more inclined to embrace the possibility of magic and all it entails. Though Max recalls her mother was much like those during the Witch trials – superstitious and terribly closed-minded. It was no wonder she took the Hardy Death Curse so seriously; changing her daughter's name was a necessity to avoid that which she believed to be an inevitability.

"That stereotypical, huh?" Mike asked from the driver's seat.

Max sighs, unsure just which emotion it was born of, "Yep." She replies as they pull into a small hotel. They had agreed on spending one night in the hotel before seeing Constance the following morning. Mike assumed Max would've wanted to get it over with, considering her apprehension to see her mother in the first place. He told her that he wouldn't meet her if Max didn't want him to but despite her gladness to be free from her, she loved her mother and of course, she would want her to be at the wedding. Firstly, she had to meet her future son-in-law and that meant going home.

"You sure you want to wait?" he inquires before they enter the hotel, "We can go tonight."

Max shakes her head in refusal, "Tomorrow. I'm not ready to see her just yet." Max knew her mother only meant well when it came to her overbearingness and inexplicable need to control every aspect of her daughter's life. Although Max couldn't understand, on some basic level, she could appreciate the way she chose to deal with her husband's untimely death.

In her childhood years, Max would often listen to stories of how her father had, in some ways, liberated Constance from a life that her own mother had planned for her. She has been intended to wed a local Preacher's son and settle down there in Salem, unable to see the world for what it was beyond the confines of the vast forest and her mother's teachings. Constance had later shared her fear of becoming like her mother, and it was only after the death of the man who taught her she could be her own person that her fear became a reality. She became the mother she had despised growing up and for all her own daughter's rebellion, she had yet to rectify the wrongs. Max wonders if she ever would and prays that the same fate would not befall her.

"Whatever you want." Mike promised, placing a kiss on her temple.

Mike falls asleep soon after they settle into bed, exhausted from the drive. Max however was plagued with nerves. She had called and left several messages for her mother weeks prior to their visit – she should be expecting them. And yet, Max couldn't help but feel they wouldn't be welcome either way.

It was three a.m. when Mike wakes to an empty space beside him. The sheets were cold, telling him she hadn't been there in a while, "Max?" he called out groggily.

"Out here." She answered from the veranda.

"You okay?" Mike asked from the bed, too tired to get up.

Max shrugged, leaning back against the doorframe, "Just thinking."

"About?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, heedful of Max's tendency to overthink things and upset herself.

She turned to look over at him, pursing her lips, "Things I shouldn't." it was the most honest answer she could give.

"Come back to bed." He coaxed, his hand on her side of the mattress, "You need to sleep." And without argument, she relented, joining him in bed.

Her back settled against him, his arms wrapped securely around her with her own on top of his – a position they had grown accustomed to in the past year of sleeping together. It was now second nature to sleep that way. "Mike?" Max whispered.

"Hm?" he breathed against her neck, inhaling the scent from her hair that too had grown familiar.

"I love you." She whispered, shifting her head to look at him through the side of her eyes.

Mike's eyes drift open to see her, "I love you too." He never grew tired of hearing the endearment, nor did he tire of saying it; not to Max – she was the only one he deemed worthy of hearing it and he could only count his blessings that she thought the same of him.

"Now sleep." He finished, kissing the side of her mouth, willing her to rest if only for a few hours. After all, if her mother was anything like Ryan had warned him she was, they'd both need it.

* * *

_I was going to wait until i finished the second part to upload it as a whole but somehow, my document manager won't allow me to uploads docs with more than 2,000 words at the moment. I'm working on fixing that. Anyway, thank you for reading and i hope you can be patient for the second and final part._


	13. Faithless

_This one is, much like "Blessing", quite a bit fluffy but it's a little moment I'm sure we'd all love to see. While Mike speaks his thoughts, he might seem slightly OOC. Please read, review and enjoy._

* * *

**FAITHLESS**

* * *

It's 6am and they're both naked in bed, their bodies wracked with lethargy from the night before. She's lying on her belly with her face turned toward Mike who is propped up on his elbow, staring down at her asleep while his fingers trace the contours of her spine.

"I love you," they scribble on her bare skin.

And as his resolve slips, he feels the words fall out of his mouth as well, the rush of the moment finally taking its toll on him. Hot tears dare to rain down as the barrier that he had spent the past couple of years fencing around himself crumbles – all because of her.

Max urged such emotions from him that he once believed were alien to his heart. Sure, he had girlfriends in the past but not one of them had the ability to lift his spirits with the slightest of smiles, or the faintest touch of her hand. She was helluva good at it: making him feel better. If he were any sort of coward, Mike would be petrified with the capacity of power Max held over him. But, as it was, he trusted the young detective far more than he trusted himself, and trust bore no home to fear.

He wonders momentarily whether she had loved before; perhaps she had a love waiting at home for her before he came along, barging his way into her office at the precinct and forcing his cautionary plea upon her. In reflection, he recalls Ryan mentioning a Chris at one point after he had calmed down following the declaration of their being together. The name hadn't been uttered since leaving Mike to think nothing more of it and yet, a sudden and ridiculous wave of jealousy crashed into him. The mere fact that he was not the first to have touched Max was unbearable and absolutely unacceptable.

He knows if Max could hear his thoughts, she'd slap him over the head and tell him to quit being silly and possessive. And, given the fact that he was now the one to whom she comes home to, he was inclined to agree.

"You're staring." She muses with her eyes closed. She claimed he stared quite a lot lately but she never seemed to mind. And unlike the previous times she had pointed it out, an apology wasn't given.

Instead, he continues with his lament, "All I wanted; all I could ask for," He starts as his vision begins to blur, "Was to be your – somewhat - loveable," He chokes back a sob in an attempt to stay strong, but he knows that the wall can't stand forever, "Damaged, seemingly reckless, best friend." He willed it to sound determined. Instead, it comes out as weak and pathetic and he bows his head in shame at his fragile emotions – only she can reduce him to this; this fumbling mess.

Under her intense gaze, he continues, "But you just had to be you - caring, kind, gentle, and loving Max!" He's in the hiccupping stage of his sad story and this is where the stillness dissipates as he was practically shouting at her now, as loud as he could possibly get this early in the morning. "You had to be beautiful – beautiful enough to catch the attention of other guys – but I didn't want that and I was selfish!" The pent up water behind his eyelids threatens to spill.

His hand moves from her back to her hair, toying with the curled ends, "You were right, you know?" he breathes, calming himself, "I'm not perfect, not by a long shot. But you?" his finger traces the side of her face, marveling at her beauty, "Of course, you just had to be." _And_, he thinks, _I don't deserve you._

"And you just had to love me back." It is barely audible as he sees her smile – not a smirk, or a lopsided grin – but a real, honest-to-goodness, genuine smile.

Her eyes open to meet his, the blue impossibly brighter than it had been the previous night, "How could I not?" She buries her face into the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply and a shiver runs up his spine as he feels her mouth move toward his ear.

She whispers, "Oh ye of little faith."


	14. Pastry Chef

_I apologise for not having updated in a while but… Oh whatever, ya'll don't care. It's short, again but my muse has yet to grace me with her inspirational and motivational presence. Until such time, you're stuck with drabbles. Oh well, it's something, right? Please read, review and enjoy._

* * *

**PASTRY CHEF**

* * *

She hadn't officially broken up with him so much as she had forgotten they had ever been dating. In afterthought, she realised dodging his calls and leaving texts to go unanswered may not have helped matters much. So, when Chris appears suddenly at her door, eager for an explanation, Max initially has to explain why she looks so flustered.

"I just didn't expect you is all." She manages, trying her best to make it sound relatively convincing. Though, her tangled mess of hair and the flush in her cheeks said otherwise.

"Well, I would've called but you don't seem to answer your phone when I do." And the effort she was making to keep the door half-closed did not go unnoticed.

Max shrugged, "I've been busy." It wasn't a lie.

"One call, Max. That's all I would've needed." He added, and she supposed that was fair. He was a nice guy after all, and he certainly deserved better. Regardless, his timing couldn't have been worse and Max was inclined to slam the door in his face, eager to return to her other guest.

Luckily for his pride, she was raised better than that, "Chris, I'm a little busy right now. So, could I call you tomorrow?" she asked politely. It wasn't a lie either – she fully intended on calling and ending whatever relationship he believed they had. He deserved better than her after all, right? At least, that's what she would tell herself when the inevitable guilt slipped in.

"Busy with what?" he inquired, peeking above her head and into the apartment.

"Well, uh…" Max was a fast thinker and would've mustered up an excuse if it hadn't been for the other – male – voice calling her name.

"Who's that?" Chris was quick to ask, suspicious.

"Come back to bed!" the voice yelled and Max winced. _Damn it, Mike!_

Chris' eyes flared with disbelief, "Really, Max?" he demanded, his arms crossed over his broad chest, as though he was an angry father waiting for his daughter to return home past her curfew.

She had no energy left to explain herself and instead, settled for a simple apology, "I'm sorry, Chris." She had never been one to lie and she wouldn't start now.

"You're sorry?" And Max supposed that was fair too. Even though she was blindingly unaware of how serious he assumed they were, his apparent – now crushed - feelings were worth a far more sincere atonement, "That's all you have to say?" he continued.

Max didn't intend to shrug but her shoulders rose before she could reel in her inhibitions, "It's all I've got." Apparently her tongue too was determined to show just how apathetic she was.

He scoffed, averting his eyes as to keep her from seeing just how emotionally invested he had been, "Unbelievable." He added, shaking his head, "Forget it. Go back to… whoever the hell he is." And with that, he stole one last glance back at his would-be-girlfriend, hoping she'd tell him to wait; ask him to stay and kick the other guy out of her bed. Sadly, her silence and apologetic expression told him that he would not be the one she chose.

With that, and a heavy sigh, he left. Max finally closes the door, turning to meet Mike standing by the bedroom door, a thin sheet wrapped carelessly around his hips, "Didn't you hear me calling?" he asked, curious as to why he had to get up and out of bed to find her.

"Someone was at the door." She replied, sitting on the arm of the couch, her hands in her lap.

Mike was suddenly alert, "It wasn't Ryan, was it?" They had been together a month and her uncle, for all his experience in profiling, had yet to suss it out. Quite frankly, she was slightly embarrassed for him – they hadn't exactly been discrete; not that they didn't try, they just weren't very good at keeping their hands or eyes off each other. Although, Max realised Ryan was probably too preoccupied with his own emotions to notice their rapidly growing ones.

"Do you think you'd be conscious if it were?" she asked rhetorically and Mike chuckled lightly as he approached her, answering anyway, "Probably not." And no, he most certainly wouldn't. They could imagine Ryan wanting to hit Mike equally as hard as Max would hit Claire for what she did to her uncle. _That bitch! _She cursed at the very thought of her.

His hands came to settle on her ribcage as her arms reached up to loop around his neck, "So, who was it then?"

Max considered telling him about Chris and his shock at her cheating on him, if one could call it that. But she didn't want to trouble Mike with that which didn't matter anymore. After all, Chris was officially her ex now, "Don't worry about it." There was nothing more to tell.

She had made her choice and she could only smile happily into his kiss.

* * *

_I had wanted to conclude the whole Chef Chris arc for a while since the show's writers never bothered to. Despite its length, I hope you like what I came up with. Thank you for reading._


	15. Weakling

_A little, relatively deep, something to tide you over while I work on longer pieces. I believe this was a request from an anonymous reviewer – "First 'I love you's". Please read, review and enjoy._

* * *

**WEAKLING**

* * *

Max loved him.

Months had gone by, barely half a year and Mike still couldn't quite fathom the prospect that someone so good; so righteous and so very close to perfection could possibly love him.

"Say it. Say it until you believe it." She told him in response to his expression of disbelief.

And he hadn't stopped saying it since – "You love me." He whispered into her neck one evening of many. Perhaps someday he'd believe it.

Though she told him early on in their relationship, Mike had been the first to say it. He had known since that night at Ryan's apartment. The same night she offered him a chance to talk and kept him company when he couldn't. He had known then and every moment thereafter – there wasn't much point in keeping it from her. She had proved to him on several occasions that she didn't scare easily and a proclamation of his love didn't end her running, but rather started with her staying – and the return of his kiss.

Of course, at first, he had tried to deny it; ignore it. He liked to pretend that he was stronger than loving someone who had the ability to tear him to pieces, should she ever have the desire. But he could imagine himself breaking his own bones if she were the one who asked.

The morning following a night he has spent researching with Max, her uncle had assured him that was the thing they call 'love'.

Mike shrugged, "I guess that makes me weak." And he couldn't quite find it in himself to care.

* * *

_Anyone remember the scene in 2.11 "Freedom" in which Mike remarks upon Ryan's uncharacteristic optimism in regards to his relationship with Carrie Cooke? Well, even though i'm sure Ryan wouldn't punched him then and there, i thought Max's influence on not only Mike but her uncle too should certainly have been mentioned. I believe she has a far more positive influence on both of them than any other character - enough to be appreciated, imo. Anyway, thanks for reading._


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